


be the better half of me

by coupe_de_foudre



Series: loving you is a losing game [2]
Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, POV Outsider, Post-Canon, Sexual Humor, i love my ocs okay, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22816921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coupe_de_foudre/pseuds/coupe_de_foudre
Summary: “You guys made it!” Richards said, “Was starting to think you were gonna ditch us for sex.”“Trust me, I tried to convince Blake you lot weren’t nearly as fun as the things I had planned for tonight,” Schofield laughed.
Relationships: Tom Blake/William Schofield
Series: loving you is a losing game [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640236
Comments: 16
Kudos: 97





	be the better half of me

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this was requested (and probably a lot of the dialogue is from) the amazing 'alicefelldowntheh0le' on Tumblr!! I hope you like this, love! 
> 
> Also, lots of you commented about the boys (especially Harry and Wood) so I hope you all enjoy this too. The first fic can be read as Blake dying if you want but if you - like me - deny such a thing then you're welcome to join me here as I bring our boy back to life xD
> 
> Enjoy <3

It was crazy how different life seemed now. Nearly three whole months after the war was officially declared won, and Harry is still struggling to settle back into his old civilian life. Everything seemed boring, too safe and predictable, and he jumped at any unexpected noise. Partly, he wished to go back in time and not feel like this; he missed his old life. 

  
But, then again, it's moments like these that make him thankful for all that he gained in the war. Sat around two tables pushed together, surrounded by friends that he loved and that understood all that he'd been through, able to laugh and joke around freely now...he realises that he wouldn’t change a thing. He knows they’re lucky to have all emerged from the war practically unscathed. 

  
He, Wood, Richards and Perez all managed to pull through until the end. They were lucky enough to be shipped home on the first boat back, probably due to how long they'd already been serving for. Johnson had lasted just as long too, but he'd decided to make a career out of the army and, as a result, wasn’t back home like the rest of them. Simmons suffered a minor head injury but had been sent to England to recover, something Perez had made sure to bitch about for the 3 months that followed until they also got to leave.

  
Lee, bless his soul, had been struck by a land mine. Not directly, luckily, but he was close enough to end up losing half his left leg (he'll never forget dragging the youngest lad along and hearing his tortured screams as the medics amputated just below the knee). He survived, that was the important thing. And he was here now, on crutches because he'd refused to use a wheelchair, looking happy as ever. 

  
Perhaps the most surprising miracle of all though, was Blake. Their old Lance Corporal. They’ve all heard the story many times from Schofield, during the year that followed the awful day they lost the young Lance Corporal. Schofield didn’t mention it for weeks, until one night as they all sat around staring at the stars and he finally let it all spill. There'd been more than just a few years shed, and they weren’t all from Schofield. It was almost exactly a year to that date that Schofield was hit, and Harry had thought the worst until word got back that he'd survived and was being sent to a hospital in London. He'd been offered leave to recover from his mild injuries back in April 1917 but he'd refused, claiming he had to stay to care for his and Blake's men. Harry also felt that he might just not want to go home only to be shipped back out.

  
He's not sure how the two found each other, but all Harry remembers is the bright smiles on both of their faces as they walked down a busy London street – Blake hobbling along with a cane and Schofield close enough to catch him if he fell. Harry's heart had stopped, thinking he had finally lost it and was seeing ghosts. But then Blake had spotted him across the street and shouted his name, and they’d hugged and laughed and cried. All Harry knows, from what he's pieced together, is that some medics had come over to investigate the smoke and found Blake bleeding out – taking him to the nearest aid post and treating him as best they could.

  
Apparently nobody had thought it necessary to let anyone in the 8th know of his survival. Not even Schofield had been informed. And nobody will tell Harry or the others how he found out.

  
“Y’alright?” Wood leans over to speak into his ear, quiet enough for the others not to hear but loud enough that Harry can hear him over the commotion of the pub. This had become their designated meet-up place: a pub down the road from Harry's place, currently run by his uncle. Which meant they got cheap drinks and Harry knew nobody would bother questioning why some of them were sat closer than usual mates sit.

  
Harry turned to look at Wood, face softening at the genuine worry in the younger man’s face. Nodding, Harry reached a hand out under the table to squeeze his knee. “Yeah, sorry. Did I miss anything?”

  
Wood smiled, shaking his head. “Nah, don’t worry. Just Simmons and Perez arguing over who's a better cook.” Harry laughed at that, glancing across the table to see Lee looking exasperated as their other friends shouted at each other. Richards was over at the bar grabbing them all another round whilst they waited on the last two arrivals – Blake and Schofield, forever running late.

  
Speak of the Devil, Wood let out a happy cheer and rose to his feet to greet the newcomers as they walked in, Blake leaning heavily into Schofield's side – his cane nowhere to be seen. “About time!” 

  
“You know Will, takes time to look that pretty.” Blake laughed, thanking Wood as he pulled a chair out for him. Schofield took the one to his left, opposite Harry and next to a screaming Perez. 

  
“Yeah, well, we can’t all be natural beauties now, can we?” Schofield teased but Harry didn’t miss the warmth in his smile, nor the bashful look Blake threw his way. “What’s up with these idiots?”

  
Harry rolled his eyes, Lee groaning and Simmons stopping mid-sentence to send a wild look at Schofield. “Perry, here, seems to think he’s a good fuckin' cook!” 

  
Perez slapped Simmons, before jolting violently – although nobody saw exactly what the cause of his pain was. “Hey! I can cook better than you!”

  
Schofield scoffed, “Perez, I’ve seen you cook. A rat wouldn’t eat that shit.” Laughter broke out amongst the men, Perez pouting and muttering insults under his breath. Lee looked at Schofield gratefully, glad to finally have some peace. 

  
“You guys made it!” Richards said, balancing a tray of beers on one hand as he clapped Blake and Schofield on the shoulders. “Was starting to think you were gonna ditch us for sex.”

  
Blake flushed red, the others chuckling at Richards joke. That was another thing different now from during the war; Blake and Schofield were happily together and (whilst Harry knows, from past conversations, that Schofield likes to hide it in public in case Blake gets hurt) they’re very open about it around their men. Well, they’re not ‘their men' anymore; just friends. The first thing they’d done when they found out was demand to know when the relationship officially started. When Blake hesitantly revealed it'd been sometime in early 1917, the others had all groaned and handed their respective items over to a smug Harry. 

  
“Trust me, I tried to convince Blake you lot weren’t nearly as fun as the things I had planned for tonight,” Schofield laughed, breaking Harry from his thoughts, “But apparently he doesn’t agree.”

  
“We can do that stuff whenever though!” Blake whined, “We only see this lot once a month.”

  
Schofield raised a suggestive eyebrow, and Blake visibly squirmed under the look. “Well, after your earlier performance I’d have quite liked to do those things to you _now_.” 

  
Blake was already about to protest but Simmons piped up across the table, “Alright, enough sex talk. Just ‘cause y'all are getting some and we aren't.”

  
Which resulted in Lee smirking at the redhead, “Don’t pretend you two aren’t getting just as much.” 

  
Perez pointed an accusing finger at the youngest member of the group, “If you weren’t crippled, I’d kick ya right now.”

  
“Got another leg, don't I?”

  
“Alright, alright! Can we stop with the bickering, for once?” Harry sighed, not wanting to see where this would go. He knows they only mean it in jest; Perez, Simmons and Lee are pretty close and he doubts any one of the men here would so much as think for a second about seriously hurting Lee. Still, Harry wasn’t willing to find out what a bit of alcohol could cause.

  
“Yeah, Miller's right. Drink up, lads!” Richards agreed, sliding the pints along the tabletops until everyone had one. “Wood, you’re getting next round.”

  
Harry smiled at the look of disappointment on Wood's face, patting his thigh with the hand that still rested on his leg. Wood turned to look at him, sea-green eyes sparkling in a way that had Harry’s stomach doing flips. 

  
An easy flow of conversation picks up around them, something about how the Sarge had lost his shit when he found Perez's stash of chocolate and wine but it'd been under Simmons cot at the time – Harry still doesn’t know what the reasoning for that was – and Simmons had been demanded to run laps for well over an hour as well as being assigned Privy Duty for the whole month. Only half paying attention to whatever Richards was saying in response, Harry glanced across the table and took note of how Schofield and Blake's hands were entwined (only just visible, slightly hidden under the table) and Blake was resting his head on the blond's shoulder. They were both listening to the stories intently, but every so often Schofield would twist his head slightly to press a kiss to Blake’s hair, or whisper something in his ear that elicited a blush across the younger man’s cheeks. 

  
It was still hard for Harry to believe that he was actually sat here, alive and well (for the most part), and able to watch these two show their love for one another openly. It’s one of the reasons he chose this pub for the meet-ups; he knew his uncle wasn’t going to kick them out for it, nor would any of the regulars. 

  
A hand landed on top of Harry's, and he glanced down with a smile as Wood stroked his thumb along his bruised knuckles. The touch sent shivers through him, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his expression as neutral as possible. Although, when he looks back up, Harry catches Schofield sending him a knowing smirk. Schofield doesn’t bring anything up though, choosing instead to join back in with the others.

  
“You’re being awfully quiet, Blake.” Lee accuses after a while, and he’s not wrong; Blake has hardly said a word in the past hour.

  
“C’mon, we know you’re not quiet!” Perez laughs, leaning over to meet Blake’s eyes and smirking at the deep flush on his face. 

  
Harry chuckles, picking up his pint only to almost choke (along with half the other men) when Schofield slings an arm around Blake's shoulders and says, with a shit-eating grin, “Pretty sure our neighbour knows that too, after last night.”

  
Blake’s face is bright scarlet now, gaping at Schofield with a mixture of emotions flashing before them all. Wood snorts, covering his mouth before he can accidently spray them all in a shower of beer. Richards is coughing vigorously, along with Harry, eyes watering, whilst the other three guffaw loudly. “Did you just-” Blake stutters, “Wait, what did you say about Nancy?”

  
Harry laughs all over again, the image of an innocent elderly woman having to hear whatever those two get up to when nobody's around. He can’t help but feel sorry for her.

  
“Hey, I’m just saying!” Schofield defends, grin not faltering once.

  
Wood pipes in then, sounding a strange combination of smug and disgusted, “I actually heard them once! Thought it was a miracle that half the army didn't.” Harry didn’t think it possible for Blake to look any more embarrassed.

  
“Oh Christ...” Blake groans, “I can’t face our neighbour again! Or you lot! Or half the fuckin' British Army now, apparently!” He drops his head into his arms, currently folded on the table. Schofield is laughing softly, rubbing his back. 

  
Harry watches as the blond leans down with a smirk, kissing his partner's head before whispering, “Don’t worry, baby, just be grateful they never heard that time in the village.” That only caused another shameful groan from Blake and he banged his head against the tabletop.

  
The boys laugh even more at this, jumbled exclamations of playful disgust and teases being thrown around the table. Blake shoots his head up, fixing them all with his best authoritative glare. “I swear, I hate you all! I'm never coming back.” he cries, but they can all hear the laughter in his voice and know for a fact that he’ll be back next month.

  
“You think you’re bad,” Richards starts, now gesturing to Harry and Wood and Harry feels his heart stop. “Try sharing a tent with these!”

  
Simmons adds in a groan of distaste, “God, yeah! Every. Single. Night.”

  
“Hey, it weren't every night!” Wood shot back and Harry squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment – suddenly pitying Blake earlier, because right now he wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

  
“Practically every night.” Perez laughed, joined by Lee re-calling – in worrying amounts of detail – some of the things they'd heard both Harry and Wood moaning in the dead of night. Harry’s face felt like it was burning, and he doesn’t want to open his eyes again but he knows he can’t ignore them forever.

  
“Wait,” Blake starts, and Harry risks a glance towards him. He looks confused, as does Schofield, “You and Wood?” he's pointing between them now, meeting Harry’s eyes. And Harry's genuinely shocked because he hadn’t expected them to not have known.

  
“Of course, Miller and Wood!” Richards calls out, “Don’t tell me you didn’t know?”

  
“Kinda had more pressing matters,” Blake huffed but Schofield is smiling at Harry now, eyes warm and understanding. It calms him.

  
“I’m happy for you both.” Schofield says, in midst of a small argument erupting between Blake and Richards. 

  
“Thanks.” Wood says, lacing his fingers with Harry's properly now. Harry takes a deep breath, glancing sideways at Wood for a moment before repeating his thanks to Schofield.

  
“Can't believe ya never told me!” Blake says, offended. “Thought we were mates.”

  
“Hardly somat to bring into conversation, Blake.” Wood scoffs, “Like, ‘mornin', sir, by the way I'm fuckin' Miller, just thought y'should know.’” 

  
Blake’s laughing, shaking his head, “Don’t have to be so outright about it! Coulda just, I dunno, let me know at some point. Nicely. Guess it explains why ya livin' down ‘ere though.”

  
“Same as you then?” Wood bites back, “And, aye, like you let us know ‘bout your little secret.”

  
“Wou'n't call ‘im little.” 

  
“Alright, _shut up_.” Lee interrupts. “We cannae understand both of ya talking together.”

  
Wood shoots him an incredulous look. “Comin' from the fuckin' Scot?” But Lee has a point; whenever Blake and Wood talk to one another their accents grow thick. Being a Londoner, born and bred, Harry struggles to decipher what they’re saying to each other most of the time. Wood isn’t as bad on his own, although his accent is definitely stronger than Blake’s. 

  
Running a hand through Wood’s dirty blond hair, which has grown a considerable amount since France, Harry smiles when Wood decides not to argue any further. Blake, across from them, snuggles into Schofield's side and they all fall back to talking about funny memories from the war. Harry still finds it mad seeing Schofield acting so carefree, smiling almost constantly now, making jokes and talking animatedly with them all. He's especially not sure he'll ever get used to the amount of sexual innuendos and references the ex-soldier makes. He’s like a completely different man from back in France. Although, the way Blake is watching him with a find smile sends hints that perhaps Blake has witnessed and loved this version of Schofield for a long time already.

  
It’s not long before they’re all slightly too tipsy, red-faced and laughing louder than what is considered normal. Blake’s finally perking up, his chatty self doubled in enthusiasm with the addition of alcohol in his system. He's currently in the middle of a story about the mission he and Schofield had been sent on – their last mission together – and teasing Schofield for being a klutz. This is something they can all agree on already; they’ve witnessed Schofield trip and fall and drop things countless times. What they hadn’t heard about before however, was of the time Schofield had managed to pierce barbed wire through his hand in an attempt to be a gentleman. Harry winces at that, the pain not even imaginable, and Wood squeezes his thigh reassuringly. 

  
Schofield is groaning, complaining about being ganged up on, whilst they all tease him. It’s at this moment that Lee appears to have a great idea, straightening up in his seat and slamming his empty pint glass onto the table. “So...were you able to wank after that?”

  
The youngest member of them is smirking proudly, watching as the rest of them fall into pits of boisterous laugher. Richards is wiping his eyes, gasping for breath. Harry tries his best not to laugh, feeling bad for Schofield, but he can’t hold it back. As they all eventually settle back down, Schofield is smirking at them. Harry can already sense another witty reply.

  
He’s not disappointed, as Schofield speaks up and immediately has Blake whining and covering his face. “Wrong hand, but it's not like I needed to worry about that, right Tom?”

  
“ _Will!_ ” Blake cries, as the rest of them roar with laughter, but Schofield is merciless. 

  
“Don’t act like it isn’t true, baby.” he murmurs, hand snaking it’s way to the back of Blake’s head before swooping in for a passionate kiss that leaves Blake visibly breathless. 

  
“Oi, no PDA!” Wood calls out, throwing a napkin at the couple. Harry laughs, unable to resist leaning over and pressing a kiss to the blond’s cheek. 

  
“Shut up, Oli. Let them have this.” he whispers into the younger man’s ear, feeling pride in his chest as Wood leans into his touch and smiles.

  
“Fine.” Wood grumbles, but he does as Harry says.

  
Perez gags from across the table, “Y'all are gross.”

  
“Piss off.” Harry says, flipping the bird at his friend and sticking his tongue out. 

  
“Don’t show me your tongue! I don’t wanna see that!” 

  
Wood leans forward, closer to Perez, face bright with mischief. “You wouldn’t be saying tha’ if ya knew what that tongue can do.” he speaks, voice low enough that most of the group don’t hear him. “Ow!” he cries out when Harry slaps his arm, shooting back to his seat and pouting at Harry.

  
“Quit it.” Harry said, fighting back a deep blush.

  
Wood tilts his head as a response, feigning innocence. “What, sweetheart?”

  
“You know damn well what, you dick.”

  
“Oh, look out, we have ourselves a lover's quarrel!” Richards shouts, raising his glass before taking a swig – half the golden liquid trickling down his chin.

  
“You get used to it.” Blake says to Harry, and Harry sighs (but he still can’t wipe the damn smile off of his face). As much as he pretends to hate them all, he knows he trusts them more than his own family. War tends to do that; build unbreakable bonds between men.

  
“Right,” Schofield starts, standing up and reaching a hand out for Blake to grab. Everyone looks at them. “We're gonna head off.”

  
“So soon?” Lee asks and Schofield smiles apologetically.

  
“Gotta get my beauty sleep.” is his reply. Harry snickers, they all know that’s not what the two of them will be doing tonight.

  
Blake’s stood up now, wincing with a subtle clutch at his side that most won’t have noticed – though Schofield instantly has an arm around his waist to take most of his partner's weight. Blake sends a grateful smile Schofield's way, kissing his cheek. Everyone says their goodbyes, waving at the two as they turn to leave.

  
Just before they’re out of earshot, Blake turns back to them. “Oh, I almost forgot. We've finished refurbishin’ so how ‘bout next month we have our meet-up at our place?”

  
“Oh, yeah. We promise the place will be clean. There’s enough room for you all. And we can get a couple crates and snacks.”

  
Harry nods, remembering how Blake and Schofield had been setting up their flat for a couple weeks now. He’s glad they’ve finally finished. It'd be nice to see it too. 

  
“Sure thing.” Simmons says, speaking for the lot of them. Blake and Schofield smile, leaving them with a final wave. Harry continues to watch them as they make their way through the pub, Blake leaning heavily into Schofield, and he smiles. It’s just a lovely sight, after thinking the worst for so long.

  
“They’re cute together.” Lee breaks the comfortable silence that had fallen around the remaining group. There’s a chorus of murmured agreement. Harry couldn’t agree more.

**Author's Note:**

> All the comments and kudos on the first fic from Harry's POV were so lovely! I didn't think anyone would be interested in outsider's pov so tysm for the feedback! 
> 
> I'm planning a third fic to this series (not outsider pov) if anyone's interested? It will almost definitely include smut...
> 
> Anyways, tysm for reading <3


End file.
